Exaggerated Truths
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: A collection of Future!Lock stories pulled from my general collection of Sherlolly fics! Just to be organized.
1. Of Airport Terminals & Exaggerated Truth

_Tumblr Prompt: How about some FutureLock? Sherlock regaling his and Molly's grandchildren on how they finally got together as a couple. That would be so super! Thank you!_

Molly straightened her shoulders and readjusted the grip on her carryon. Her lip trembled horribly and tears ran down her cheeks as the queue to board moved forward slightly. Embarrassed, she brushed the tears away roughly.

It had finally come. The last straw. The day she gave up on Sherlock Holmes.

Everything had come crashing down after Janine and Magnussen, then Faux-Moriarty. And her heart could take no more. He never treated her as anything more than an asset. And she couldn't watch him get killed by his recklessness. So, she was taking her heart and moving on. To America, as a matter of fact. Sherlock would move on and find another pathologist, probably one who wasn't so pathetically heartsick over him.

Suddenly, a familiar baritone broke through the clattering airport sounds.

'Molly! Molly Hooper!'

She stiffened at the shout. Turning, she peeked around the people behind her to see a familiar head of black curls bounding through the terminal. Her eyes widened in shock as Sherlock pushed past travelers, narrowing in on her.

She stepped out of line with a horrified, yet confused expression. 'Sherlock? What are you doing here?'

'You can't,' he panted as he ran up to her. 'You can't go.'

Molly rolled her eyes. 'I can. And I _am._ ' She turned away, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder.

Sherlock reached out and whirled her back, his arms locking around her waist. Her carryon clattered to the floor beside them as she struggled against his hold.

'What are you doing? Let me go!'

By now, they'd gathered a small crowd. All the words he'd wanted to say failed him, so he did the one thing he'd been wanting to do for three years. He kissed her.

The moment his lips touched hers, Molly melted against him, her anger dissipating. She sighed into his mouth as he masterfully deepened the kiss. Both were ignorant of the cheers and mutterings around them.

Pulling away with a dazed smile, Molly grinned up at him. He smirked triumphantly down at her before immediately dropping to one knee.

'Molly Hooper, you are the most beautiful, brilliant woman I know.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, flipping it open to reveal a beautiful diamond solitaire ring. 'Will you marry me?'

Her eyes widened in delighted surprise. 'Yes, yes, yes!' She cried out, launching herself into his arms with a joyful sob and plastering his face with kisses. He caught her around the waist and chuckled at her exuberance. Turning her face with his hand, he guided her stray kisses to the one place he wanted her lips to be. On his.

* * *

'…and with a final shout of 'yes,' she jumped me!' Sherlock leaned down, his eyes alight as he regaled his captive audience. 'I wasn't prepared for the assault and it knocked the breath out of me, but she didn't notice, too intent on kissing every part of my face she could reach. After that, I insisted we marry immediately and contacted a certain government official to speed up the process. We were married the next day and have been happily together ever since.'

'Is that so?'

Three heads turned to the doorway in surprise and a trio of small voices cried out, 'Nana!'

Sherlock's eyes widened and his cheeks tinged pink guiltily as his audience turned its attention to Molly.

'Nana, is it true you knocked Grandfather over?'

'Did you really almost leave him?'

'Why did jump on him?'

Molly placed her hands on her hips. 'Now, those are very good questions.'

'I thought you were taking a walk with Georgina and Claire,' Sherlock said in false indifference, his eyes shifting ever so slightly as he glanced at his wife, her beautiful hair now more white than brown.

'We didn't get far, the pregnancy is tiring Georgina out something awful. So I decided to come see what tales you are weaving to my grandchildren.' She smiled knowingly and walked over to his chair, settling herself on the arm. 'Please,' she gestured to the eager ears waiting for answers. 'Continue.'

Sherlock stared at the expectant faces of his grandchildren, his mind racing. He breathed a sigh of relief when their parents suddenly called from the other room for the children to start preparing for bed.

With a chorus of disappointed groans, they hugged their grandparents good night and slumped from the room.

'Sherlock,' Molly said with a smile, as soon as they were out of earshot. 'Were you padding our proposal story?'

He shifted in his seat, looking anywhere else but at his wife. Even after forty years of marriage, he hadn't developed an immunity to those brown, doe eyes of hers.

She slid down into the chair and pushed his side until he made room for her to cuddle next to him. It was their favourite position. Neither one on top or underneath, but next to each other. Side by side, as equals.

A pout on his lips, Sherlock turned his face away.

Molly caressed the wrinkles around his eyes and brushed the silver curls around his temple. He shivered and reluctantly relaxed his frown. She knew it was a dirty trick, but it was the quickest way to appease him when he was in a strop.

'Sherlock, look at me,' she asked softly. He turned his head slightly, but still refused to catch her gaze. Shaking her head fondly, Molly pressed a kiss to his cheek.

'I like the original story better,' she whispered in his ear. His nose twitched in annoyance. Molly smiled wickedly and casually fiddled with her well-loved pair of rings. 'You remember, when I was already _on_ the plane and you called in an emergency deplane and got arrested, shouting 'marry me!' as they dragged you from the terminal. I especially liked the part where I had to wait two days until Mycroft had you released before I could finally get an explanation. And a kiss.'

'Forty bloody years. Am I ever going to live that down?' he grumbled, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

'Nope,' Molly replied cheerily. She cupped his cheek and pulled his lips down to hers, appeasing him with a delightfully long kiss. He moaned in frustration when she broke away. Laughing happily, she stood up and went to tuck the grandchildren into their various beds and sleeping bags.

Sherlock watched her leave, his heart feeling full and blessed. However their relationship had _started_ didn't matter. What mattered was that it did.


	2. Of First Meetings and Coffee Cups

_Tumblr Prompt: Don't want to sound like Oliver Twist but could we please have some more of Sherlock and Molly interacting with their grandchildren? 'Of Airport Terminals and Exaggerated Truths' was just pure unadulterated fluffiness and so sweet that it just made my day so much better!_

Men flirted, wolf-whistled, cat-called, said all sorts of misogynistic things when they saw an attractive woman.

Sherlock was above that.

He didn't need to debase himself to the primitive desire to vocally acknowledge his appreciation of a female's form. Mostly because he had not yet found a female worthy of his vocal admiration. Oh, there had been many stunning women that had crossed his path; he wasn't a machine and acknowledged that they were culturally beautiful. But none had wiped his mind of all intelligent thought, reducing him to ape-like sounds and simperingly idiotic words of appreciation. He honestly didn't believe there was a woman on Earth who would be able to elicit that reaction from him.

Until now.

'Yowza!'

He had come down to St Bart's to meet Graham… George?... Geoff and burst into the room with his usual subtlety and promptly froze in his tracks. The door clicked shut behind him as he stared, dumbfounded, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop it.

The lab tech, no… _pathologist_ looked up in surprise. 'Hi. Sorry, did you say something?'

All his massive vocabulary came up short in answer as he gaped at the petite brunette.

'Are you okay?'

Her brow furrowed in concern. But all Sherlock could see was her big, brown eyes behind a pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her pert nose. Her plain, brown hair was piled high in a braided bun, several pieces falling out in tufts over her forehead. She clutched the large metal bowl tighter and took a step toward him, the contents swishing ominously. Her lab coat was untarnished, but the gloves on her hands were covered in blood and pieces of... whatever that was in the bowl. _God,_ his mind wasn't even functioning on an average-human level.

By now, the woman had set down the bowl and was walking toward him, snapping off her gloves. Sherlock swallowed and took a defensive step back. Why, he didn't know. She posed no threat, physically, at least, not with her over-sized glasses and her concern and her doe-eyes... and... and… He opened his mouth to explain that he did not need her to examine him, since he was perfectly fine, but his mouth didn't get the message his brain was trying to send.

'Yowza!'

She froze and Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. He hadn't meant to repeat that damnable word! A slow grin grew on her face and she ducked her head, a blush on her cheeks as she slid her glasses up and scrunched her nose endearingly.

 _Endearingly?!_

He didn't know what to do. His mouth was betraying him, his hands were shaking as he held them behind his back, and there was a sudden pounding in his chest that was wholly unfamiliar. And when she glanced up at him shyly, he felt a bead of sweat form on his temple. He swallowed thickly and shifted on his feet.

Thankfully, she had mercy on him and turned away. Sherlock breathed an inaudible sigh of relief and tried to rein in his scattered thoughts. He quickly deduced her from the back (recent hire, just out of Uni, graduated early, intelligent, only child, one cat, one parent deceased, size 10…). His mind was back in fine form as the information whirled about.

Suddenly, she was back in front of him and holding something. He blinked down at the cup she was offering to him.

'It's mine. Or it was, I'd just gotten it a little earlier, never had a sip. Black with two sugars, if you'd like it.'

He automatically took the mug from her and sniffed the coffee. He never drank the stuff, one vice at a time was enough and nicotine was his. Still, he didn't want to be rude, she might very well be a valuable asset in the future. He took an obligatory and faked a smile as the bitter liquid burned his tongue and throat.

But she seemed happy about his façade so he took another sip.

'I'm Molly Hooper, by the way,' she said and smiled in greeting. 'I'm going to guess you're Sherlock Holmes. Greg said you'd be coming down today. Here to see Mr Newberry?'

'Guessing is a fool's errand. Never lower yourself to that level,' he quipped, following her as she led him around to the bowl she had set down earlier. He inwardly cursed himself for letting hormones impede his thought processes. Inside was obviously a brain, the former Mr Newberry's, it would seem.

He took another sip of the coffee without thinking twice as Molly began rattling off the slight discrepancies she had found in the brain matter, indicating a subtle, but powerful poison that would have, in almost anyone else's case, gone completely unnoticed. As she chattered on excitedly about the find, he found himself staring down at her in admiration. He would never say it aloud, but Molly Hooper was already proving to be far more intelligent than he had ever imagined an average person could be.

She could be a very promising asset.

* * *

'I don't remember our first meeting going quite like that, my darling.'

Molly flushed at the interruption and turned to see her husband leaning against the doorjamb. She bit her lip guiltily at being caught. 'And how exactly do you remember it, _my love_?'

Sherlock waded through the audience of grandchildren and settled on the couch next to her. The little faces staring up at him were bright with smiles of anticipation. 'Well, I do remember there coffee being a part of it. But it was less of a meet-cute and more of a you-running-into-me-and-giving-me-burns-on-my-chest meet-ugly.'

Molly blushed as their audience laughed. 'I wouldn't have spilled it on you if you hadn't been standing right outside the door as I was going out. It really was your own fault.'

'I could never quite get the smell of coffee out of that shirt,' he lamented.

'I'm ever so sorry,' Molly quipped and rolled her eyes. 'Perhaps if you hadn't been gawking at me through the door, you would have come in sooner and we could have avoided the whole mess.'

Sherlock froze. 'I wasn't… I wasn't _gawking_!'

'Okay. Peeping, then.'

The children giggled when their grandfather crossed his arms and pouted, a normal occurrence in the Holmes' household.

'Admit that I at least got one thing right,' Molly whispered as the children began talking amongst themselves and staggering to their feet to go play. 'The first thing you ever did say about me was 'yowza'.'

'No,' he retorted. 'The first thing I ever said to you was, a rather pained, 'Son of a-!'

Molly's brief, wide-eyed frown was enough to kill the last part of his sentence. He pressed an appeasing kiss to the corner of her mouth and she relaxed, snuggling closer.

'No, the first thing you ever said _about_ me was 'yowza'.' She looked up at him and grinned knowingly. 'The lab doors weren't soundproof, you know.'

Sherlock froze.

'Oh.'


End file.
